artbysara

Ice Cream

2012-01-12T07:09:00.000-08:00

I met him down t’pub the other week in the queue for the bar. We were standing beside a black gloss-painted post that held the ceiling up and which retained indents of past drunken bouts. His name was Phil, a northerner down south with northern vowels. He hated motorway services, laundrettes and modern traffic management systems such as sleeping policemen, speed cameras and bollards which he often hit.

His mother had recently had a fall out with Age Concern which he told me all about and he swore he’d never been abroad in his life and had never had a passport. He lived on his wits, charming the women who swooned like lilies on a hot summer’s day with desire for him.

I offered to buy him a pint, in fact I felt obliged as he regaled me with the story of his life. But he went off on one about beers, lager, spirits and alcopops, their merits, after tastes and cost. On and on he went as he couldn’t decide which beer he best liked, he was so desiring of the lot his eyes fizzed with lust.

Myself, I got fed up, so bought him the cheapest can on sale and made a quick escape leaving him with the barmaid.

Knit Two Purl Two

2011-12-03T11:09:00.000-08:00

Learning to knit’d do this bloke a lot of good.

The cemented grimace might even crack after his first scarf or hat.

Cast on thirty stitches, knit two purl two in a lovely shade of pink or blue.

Legwarmers for the missus or a jumper emerging row by row. And cosy socks for Christmas with a snowman motif.

Needle in, yarn over, slide off, pull through.

And Be Thought She

2011-10-19T06:31:00.000-07:00

She had an incredibly big nose which as things go these days meant she was expected to have plastic surgery to sort it out.

But, being determined not to be squashed into some society-defined image of beauty she refused to, much to the consternation of her mother, boyfriend and her doctor who was well prepared for her to have surgery to repair this birth defect.

‘In the future,’ he said ‘all people will be able to look as they desire. We’ll have a clone created at birth from our DNA to harvest parts from if, for example, we need a new hip or heart.’

He got very excited. ‘Cosmetic surgery will be the norm and we’ll choose how our children are going to look before they are born.’

...and be, thought she, with microchips implanted for mind control and ID.

Indulge

2011-09-21T09:35:00.000-07:00

She loves his nose in particular and the way he swings his legs as he walks. He’s an individual alright, a gourmand from birth with a knack of knocking the wind out of any cooking expert.

Ok, so he waffles and spills wine whilst looking at his watch to tell the time and such things irritate Marilyn to hell. And his history of drinking too much beer whilst she stifled her desire for cakes and pizzas by working out at the gym is another bugbear cos who has squandered their youth, her or him? I.e. which is best, beer or gym?

So what exactly does she see in him whisper the neighbours behind half drawn curtains to the sound of some romantic soundtrack downloaded in the hope of a loved up night of their own.

Well, what they don’t see in the first grey glint of morn’s light are Marilyn’s eyes animated by the aroma of fresh ground coffee thanks to Bob’s passion for breakfast in bed with marmalade dripping hot off toast, chocolate croissants and crumbs in the bed. You have to start the day off on the right foot and with a full stomach says Bob, belly bulged.

I.e. indulge.

The Mermaid Of Zennor Sequel

2011-08-21T06:11:00.000-07:00

Once upon a stormy night a lass called Nat having spent rather too long down the pub went for a walk along the cliffs at Zennor for a bit of fresh air. Searching for a sheltered spot for a sit down she heard a song smooth as melted chocolate. It dripped deliciously into her ears and she was spellbound.

‘Oh my God’ she thought, ‘not only am I drunk and very dishevelled but I’m also hearing voices!’ Glancing over the rocks she clocked a green-dreadlocked woman with a fish’s tail. Never having experienced psychic phenomena other than the visual slur brought on by too much booze she was rather shocked. However, in spite of her shaking knees she crept forward for a closer look.

The mermaid, who was none other than Morveren, turned and took off her shades as she caught sight of Nat then slipped quickly into the foaming waves. There was a sudden gasp and the sweet song stopped mid flow. Nat swore she saw a man's hand emerge from the breakers, but was it in greeting or a request for help?

She blew her nose and was about to head back inland when a bloke, completely starkers, dragged himself onto the rocks. She didn’t know where to look. Seaweed tangled his hair and there was a greenness to his skin as if algae lived upon it. He was none other than Matthew Trewhella weathered by a decade of waves.

‘Kiss me!’ he shouted, ‘Kiss me!’ leaping over the rocks, but Nat legged it like there was a devil at her feet. Alas, mist made the path near invisible and though she scrambled she couldn't shake him off. Then BAM! right in front of her glowered Morveren and an enormous creature with long white locks and beard, a crown of crustaceans and a huge pitchfork in his fist. A fish tail long and green and covered in pearls and shells curled to his side.

‘How dare you steal the husband of my daughter!’ yelled he. ‘I am King Llyr of the Mighty Ocean and no one crosses me and keeps their life!’

Nat felt like she was going to throw up the several pints she’d earlier guzzled. Three, two, one puke...nice. Well, not nice at all. Then the naked man quick as a flash grabbed her and planted a smacker on her sicky lips. She nearly fainted with shock and embarrassment combined.

‘We’ve got to get to the village!’ he yelled and half dragged, half carried her along the cliff edge with the two mer creatures slipping along close behind cursing the jagged rocks, their anger instigating the adverse weather conditions of thunder, lightning and the mother of all gales.

‘I was bewitched by the mermaid a few years back and forced to live beneath the sea. Only the kiss of a mortal woman could break the spell and you set me free me. I don’t half crave some chips and a pint of ale.’

A bolt of lightning struck nearby scorching Nat’s hair giving it a metallic whiff, though it wasn’t as potent a smell as the fishy reek exuded by Llyr and his daughter of the waves. With one last scramble Matt and Nat made it onto tarmac amongst the amber glow of street lights.

‘Back at last!’ yelled Matt of the golden voice ‘and it’s straight to the Tinner's Arms for me.’ With that he dropped Nat and dashed to the pub door.

Nat herself was less fortunate. King Llyr, having caught up, carried her off to the fishy depths where she now shivers with the tide and cries like a seagull for the kiss of Matthew Trewhella who doesn’t hear as he’s too trolleyed and loved up anyway with a local bird.

(More illustrations on the way! Sara)

The Mermaid Of Zennor

2011-07-20T04:48:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time not so long ago there lived a man called Matthew Trewhella. He was the finest singer in the Land’s End area of Cornwall and knew all the old ballads as well as some raucous ones too. He sang at folk nights, in a couple of bands and in the church at Zennor on a Sunday, a village nestled amongst granite rocks and yellow gorse.

One day a beautiful woman came to the service, slipping in the back of the church. She had heard his haunting songs drifting over the waves of Pendower Cove that was her abode for she was a mermaid of the sea and her name was Morveren.

She begged her father King Llyr that she may go on land to see the man who sang such exquisite songs and after many a plea he agreed but on the condition that she let no human see her and that she return before high tide else she would be trapped on land and perish. So she swam to the shore and hid her tail beneath a sarong embroidered with pearls and coral. Painfully she crossed the tarmac of the road and entered the church where she gazed at the golden-haired man before her.

Each Sunday she returned, always disappearing before the service ended that none may see her. But one week she sighed so deeply he looked to the back of the church and saw her and fell instantly in love.

She slipped out of the church as fast as she could but Matthew ran after her and as she fell he lifted her up, catching a glimpse of her fish’s tail. But his love was so great he cared not and in an instant made the decision to spend the rest of his life with her in the deep turquoise sea.

People ran from the church and tried to catch the couple but magic was on their side and Matthew raced over the rocks to where the tide crashed white. They dived in and all that was left was his t-shirt floating on a wave’s crest.

To this day if you wander out at night onto the headland at Zennor you may be lucky to hear the sweet singing of Matthew Trewhella and see Morveren sat on the rocks combing her luxuriant green hair.

Nightshift Nick

2011-06-25T01:04:00.000-07:00

He escaped the northern town he grew up in by playing bass for a band who toured Europe before falling out with each other which is a lot further than most bands get.

At present he works the nightshift down the out of town massive monstrosity hub of capitalism supermarket where he suffocates nightly and very nearly goes mad with boredom.

As a sideline and lifeline he places bets on anything and everything and is amassing a tidy little sum. He dreams of the sun.

The Romance of Margaret and Dan

2011-06-07T00:18:00.000-07:00

'Beware women with red hair' that’s what his dad told him and he is actually one of those kids who does listen so when he saw Margaret with her fiery locks down the shopping precinct he darted fast as you could say Jack Sprat down the aisle of well to do kitchen shop.

Alas, not fast enough cos as he sneaked a look around the aisle end hung with strainers, wooden spoons and stainless steel sieves, there she was stood!

Being a lass who doesn’t take no for an answer she marched him straight down the pub and treated him to seven pints of ale after which he threw up.

A year on they’re a couple.

Anti-Establishment (Got Angst To Vent)

2011-05-06T11:01:00.000-07:00

It’s been a difficult few months for republicans and anarchists alike with the royal wedding hoo-hah. Thank God this bloke doesn't have a TV, or a girlfriend either, into the intricacies of wedding dresses and etiquette.

Singledom has its uses.

Sweet Dreams Luv

2011-04-21T01:00:00.000-07:00

This morning he’s a little somber, a little dazed. And the grey sky doesn’t help, or his hangover.

So we’ll leave him his peace cos he’s in no mood to natter.

And I reckon after a nice cuppa he’ll be straight back to bed, duvet pulled up over his head to block out that one chink of light that ever escapes the curtain’s side.

And we won’t ask him what he got up to last night cos I’m sure he was an impeccable guest and didn’t drink tequila like a maniac or run around wearing nothing but a straw hat.

Not this chap…tho he is having some worrying flashbacks.

Ssshhh now, he’s made it to bed, his head’s beginning to nod.

Sweet dreams luv.

The Ship Inn

2011-04-14T01:21:00.000-07:00

‘I was down The Ship Inn t’other week and this lass walked in like no other lass I’ve ever seen before for more like a cat was she with head of brindle fur touching lightly her tracky top.

'If I’d’ve been into psychic phenomena I’d’ve said she was a visitor from a parallel realm or the consequence of some fairytale enchantment.

‘But, being a simple bloke who loves reality TV, pub grub and a nice cup of tea all I could do was sit, mouth agape, staring into those fathomless eyes until a well hard bloke piped up, thus breaking cat girl’s tingly spell.

‘Oi, where’s my pint?’ yelled he.

I glanced amongst the empty glasses on the table, drips sticking beer mats to table top.

‘I see not your pint mate, maybe you finished it?’

‘With that he aimed a ferocious swipe throwing me from my comfy fire side seat, spittle splatterering the wood chip wall of decades old dart holes.

‘He then staggered out, beer gut squishing. I fell to drinking my ale but, looking around, I perceived cat girl had disappeared!

'I heaved a weighty sigh as I feared I had fallen in love with this enchanted lass now heading down some darkened alley where tom cats howled.’

Madgy Figgy's Chair

2011-03-19T09:08:00.000-07:00

In days of yore it was rumoured that ‘ugly old hags sold themselves to Satan’ merely to get some spiteful revenge on their neighbours. But really there was a lot more to being a witch than cursing, though of course this was a perk of the job.

For example, the buzz of riding on a broomstick, three legged stool or even a piece of yellow-flowered ragwort and getting blind drunk on medicinal brews whilst having a right old knees up (which if you are ugly and old beats sitting hunched up in a damp cottage darning stockings). Magicking away some of the stingy squire’s favourite rum and making yourself invisible through use of ‘fairy ointment’ to do a bit of shoplifting down the local market also rank high on the list of a witch's must-dos.

If the local devil deigned to join in the coven’s full moon festivities then all the better because even more fun could be had leaping over the golden flames of the bonfire hand in hand with his devilish lordship the Bucca Boo (to give him his Cornish name), singeing hems and heels in the process, and diving for a quick snog in the bushes for good luck and prosperity.

Madgy Figgy was a witch who lived in the Land’s End area of Cornwall and her reputation has stood the test of time. She even has a pile of rocks named after her, ‘Madgy Figgy’s Chair,’ high up on the granite cliffs edging the turquoise Atlantic Ocean. Figgy sat there whilst calling up the spirits of the winds and was wont to swing herself from side to side when a storm was brewing to lure the vessels, struggling against the winds to reach the safety of the harbour, onto the jagged rocks beneath. Many a shriek echoed around the cliff tops as the witches croaked their miserable delight over the perishing crews whom they were about to rob of the treasures they were bringing home from distant lands.

From the Chair Figgy poured forth all manner of imprecations and none could escape her noxious spells. She would take flight like some terrifying bird, mounted on a stem of ragwort. Figgy headed a band of witches who flew to Wales or Spain where they partied, stole milk from cows and plundered veg from the land. On their return each one alighted with all her goodies in some convenient spot near her cottage, hopefully avoiding the brambles.

No one can say for how long the Chair has been the midnight rendezvous for witches. Many a person now sleeping quietly in the nearby churchyard could attest to having seen the witches flying by on moonlit nights carrying with them the things necessary to make their charms and potions. And to this day Madgy Figgy, some say, can still be seen flying high over the windswept cliffs like a bird of prey, her cackle the sound of drowned sailor’s cries.

So Are You Listening?

2011-03-08T09:05:00.000-08:00

...Her husband didn’t and ended up with his riled wife armed with a very large sword pinning him to the wattle and daub wall. Fortunately for him, she let her angst out on his beard rather than his jugular, severing it from his aghast face with one fatal slice.

Unfortunately for him, his beard was his pride and joy, a fiery ginger carpet tumbling down to his fleshy knees and praised in many a poem by the clan bard.

This marital incident was immortalised in verse due to the two them already being notorious characters involved in many an infamous cattle raid of the Celtic era. The stanzas, performed by quick-witted bards singing along to enchanted harps, were passed down through the ages by subsequent poets, troubadours and random delinquents, culminating in the collected works entitled, ‘One Woman One Sword: The History Of A Warrior Queen And A Beard.’

The epic poem has been translated into modern vernacular by Professor Hilary Figg to mark Women’s Day 2011. The original, being 1,279 verses in length, has not been printed here due to issues of space and reader’s attention span. However, the Celtic Queen herself who went by the name of Angry Ethel has been immortalised in this portrait discovered rolled up in an urn in the damp recesses of a cave in Pembrokeshire in 1971.

Mr Myxomatosis

2011-03-01T08:06:00.000-08:00

Your rage is ill-formed and unable

To fit into sentences which would enable

You to vent your hatred so instead it stews

Contorting muscles and distorting your view

As if myxomatosis had spread right through

You.

Fun

2011-02-21T07:25:00.000-08:00

Being a party animal is not something this bloke knows about. I mean, you have to neck back the beer and jump around enthusiastically to music whilst retaining some level of kudos and an ability to pull.
Mmm...not to mention the three day hangover and flashbacks.
Deffo not his cup of tea.
Though he did tell me t'other day he's thinking of having a makeover.

The Bucca-dhu (Black Spirit)

2011-02-11T04:48:00.000-08:00

The old Cornish word "Bucca” belongs to the same family of words as the Irish "Pooka" and the Welsh "Pwcca" meaning a person of a mischievous disposition, one about whom there is something weird or wisht (in the old-fashioned magical sense), and also a frightful apparition. Bucca-dhu is a black spirit and Bucca-gwidden a white spirit.

There is a story told of an old lady who lived long ago in Cornwall who was so fond of card-playing that she would walk almost every winter's night, in spite of wind or rain, to a nearby village that she might enjoy her favourite pastime.

The old lady's step-daughter wished to put a stop to what she regarded as a rather scandalous past time, as the old dame seldom arrived home before the small hours of the morning!

With this in mind she persuaded a local lad to array himself in a white sheet to impersonate a ghost that was often seen wandering about a lonely spot over which the old dame had to pass. This was to scare her so witless she'd never walk that path again and thus bring an end to her card-playing proclivities.

The winter's night was dark and rainy when at about midnight he seated himself on a stile, whereupon he had to wait another two or three hours; the dear old lady was in no hurry to leave such pleasant company!

At last she passed by, seated herself to draw breath, and sensing some mischief upon seeing the white figure said,

"Hello Bucca-gwidden, what cheer? And what in the world dost thee do here with the Black Bucca-dhu so close behind thee, ready to take you away to his firey realm?"

That an evil spirit might be right behind him so frightened the young lad that he ran off as fast as he could lay feet to ground, throwing the white sheet into the brambles at his side. The old lady scampered after, clapping her hands and calling,

"Well done Black Bucca-dhu, now thee will catch White Bucca-gwidden and take him away with thee!"

Of course the old lady was playing a fine trick on the young man who was so frightened he fell into a fit and was never right in the head again, thus becoming a real Bucca, as was wont to happen in the olden days when folk were far more suceptible to visitors from the spirit realm than us lot today with our heads immersed in tweets. So, the strong-minded, sociable old lady enjoyed many more years of her favourite past time and in fact her descendents still live in the area to this day.

Success

2011-02-01T06:39:00.000-08:00

“Prescription drugs gave me love of a certain kind,

Pills I popped to relieve the tensions of my mind.

Prozac gave me the feeling of the softening of reality

And with Viagra I could make love with huge vitality.

Thank you NHS, you have made my life a success,

Full of drugs and sex.”

Psycho Dog

2011-01-24T10:08:00.000-08:00

"Had a dog I couldn’t get rid of, a psycho terrier who barked incessantly at any provocation whatsoever.

And in an irritating high pitched yap at that like chalk on blackboard or a bus screeching to a halt.

Tried to palm him off on my boyfriend, my mum, my mum’s boyfriend, the bloke down the pub.

No takers.

They all knew his nature.

DAMN!"

Stilettos

2011-01-13T10:57:00.000-08:00

Stilettos make him shake cos when he was a pup he was a sweet little darling and the girls loved his big round eyes and tickled his ears and stroked him under the chin and on his belly and he’d roll over in puppy delight until one angsty stilettoed lass came along and spitefully stood on his puppy dog tail.

This incident ended his innocence when it came to women.

‘Happens to us all’ said his dad.

Suburban Nemesis

2011-01-05T00:45:00.000-08:00

He tries to be good but has some innate tendency to get it wrong, to stay in bed too late, to not be arsed, to come across as plain odd.

He’s an expert at misunderstanding the complexities of social etiquette and doing what’s expected. He dribbles a bit and scratches his arse and has a reputation for spilling red wine on cream carpets.

He doesn’t watch the relevant TV programmes either cos he doesn’t have a TV and his clothes are scruffy, in fact he rarely takes them off and the chemical sprays of human hygiene make him cough.

He feels the world is in cohorts to chain him to a desk, in an office where double-glazed windows are tinted and locked. A place with CCTV cameras on all floors, cards to swipe in and out of all doors; his ID computerised on endless files.

His paranoia is continually on the rise.

Happy(?) New Year!

2010-12-28T04:50:00.000-08:00

He wishes humans had evolved the ability to hibernate over winter and to live on cake, tea and chocolate alone.

As we haven’t he’s a gloom connoisseur predicting environmental chaos which he’s really looking forward to cos it’ll mean he won’t have to get up for work as the office will be 10 foot under water and swamped with sewage.

And, fingers crossed, the swindlers in Parliament will have drowned too.

This thought is one of the few things that actually cheers him up.

A Beastie Christmas

2010-12-20T03:54:00.000-08:00

Beastman’s up for a right old raucous Festive Season, it brings the animal out in him; he lets rip and stuffs his face full of mince pies, pet cats, Christmas cake and gallons of wine, nice! For it’s the time of the year for a right old knees up to chase away those winter blues cos the longest night is past; it’s a time for bloating out one’s gut gggrrrrhhhhhhhhhh!!!

And he farts and sniggers and it may be cat’s blood he’s drinking but don’t be alarmed, it’s all in the Spirit of Christmas...even when he scratches his claws down the side of 4 wheel drives parked in the posh part of town and pisses in the park iced with frost at 4am on the way back from the lock in.

“Tis all in good fun, and an ‘appy Christmas to you me luvs! ... Aaaggghhh tis good to be a Beast at heart and free of yer modern obsession with possessions and Christmas cards!”

Thus spake the Beast as he staggered back from gate crashing a pagan gathering marking the solstice, hippies he had much fun scaring witless as he appeared with a blood curdling GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Treacle

2010-12-15T01:07:00.000-08:00

She tries her best to be nice, to say the sweetest things and to smile. At the cashier, the bloke down the garage, her boss, her boss’s boss and even the cleaner of the office.

Sweat oozes out at times with the sheer effort of being nice; of not being seen as a threat, different, someone to not ask out, to lay into, to bitch about.

She spends hours at a time online dating, improving her accent, applying makeup.

But cracks appear in her portrayal, her betrayal, of herself.

Damn!

Coupled Up

2010-12-03T12:13:00.001-08:00

They’ve been an item for five years now and it’s incredible how long it’s lasted considering he has Neanderthal eating habits and doesn’t wash from one month to the next. It must be his animal magnetism and innate insolence towards those in authority that keeps the flame alive; she’s always fancied a rebel.
And the magic certainly does spark up, like when he graffities the underpass with her name in a heart and climbs a crane with a banner demanding an end to speciesism and corporate destruction of the natural world.
Having said that though it can be hard living in the shadow of such a character; her best mate warned her ‘once a beast, always a beast’.
His unattractive traits like the fact he refuses ever to remove his coat and his uncontrollable urge to chase cats are things she finds hard to stomach. But after five years they’re still together. It must be love.

Piskey Threshing

2010-11-27T00:34:00.000-08:00

On her calamitous journey back from market we’ve heard about how our spirit-troubled housemaid in the tale 'Fairy Ointment' ended up in several ditches whilst under the influence of various alcoholic beverages, and fairy ointment itself which, if placed in the eye, brings the Otherworld into vision. This is a yarn she also used to tell about her night of high adventure...

“I was so weary and felt no more could I continue homeward. I was seeing all manner of strange happenings, giants looming from hedgerows, the tinkling of fairy bells and even the Devil himself upon his charger, baying hounds at his side! Then I espied the light of a lantern coming from a barn and heard the sound of corn being threshed, it must be a farmer working late thought I.

“So I crossed the cobbles and peeped through the door and saw Piskey himself threshing corn with his skinny long arms, dressed in ragged clothes with a face full of pointy teeth that glistened as he raised the flail over and over bringing it down on the corn causing clouds of dust to rise up. In the half light I beheld his workers, no more than two feet high; some lugged down sheaves and placed them handy for him, others shook the straw and bore it off to the end of the barn.

“Piskey was working that hard he raised such a dust that it set him and the small folks sneezing and, as is custom, I said 'God bless 'e little men!'

But no sooner had I spoken the words than the light went out and all vanished and I felt a handful of dust thrown into my poor eyes that nearly blinded the only peeper that I could see anything out of!

“T’was at this point I remembered that the small people have great spite against anyone who watches them or tries to pry into their doings. So I briskly carried on across the moor but the bridle-paths were all askew. It must be that troublesome Piskey playing tricks because, turn whichever way I would, the path was always before me!

“After going on for a long while, at last I saw light and heard music. But instead of arriving at a house I came all at once on a level green surrounded by furze and there I saw the small people holding a fair. Scores of stalls were covered with trinkets, buckles of silver and gold glistening with diamonds, rings, bracelets and strings of crystal beads. Not to disturb the fairy folks I crept along softly till I stood opposite a company of dancers linked hand in hand, whirling around a maypole garlanded with flowers.

“I soon got to thinking about how well the bright little buckles would look, fixed as brooches, on my shawl, and thus determined to secure them at once. I knew that turning a garment inside out serves to keep the fairy folk at bay and as there was nothing that could be so readily turned inside-out except my apron, I took it off and turned it around. But whilst trying to grasp the buckles, pins or needles so small that I didn't notice them stuck into my fingers and I cried out,

'Oh! Cuss 'e! You little buccas!'

“That instant all the lights went out, and all the fair and most of the small people vanished like shadows among the rock, or sunk into the earth. I took up my skirt and ran fast as I could through puddles and mire to leave behind that enchanted place and the devilish Piskey who I swore I could see in the moonlight laughing at me!”

First Kiss

2010-11-11T12:21:00.001-08:00

The first time Dogman and I kissed was on an end of season seaside prom lit by blue and red lights many of which had long since packed in, a fact which Dogman observed with his acute eye and perceptive manner.

Those the worse for wear staggered homeward beneath circling seagulls, their screeches a reminder of their reptilian past whilst the sea played like a harp on the shingle as we strolled beneath the coloured bulbs, Dogman’s tail occasionally brushing my thigh.

It was a moment I’ll remember for the rest of my life as we accidentally ended up in each other’s arms avoiding discarded beer cans and chips on the cracked paving slabs. Before I knew it I was stroking his furry chin and tickling his ears to the sound honking horns and the jeers of youths bored on the bench by the park.

Fairy Ointment

2010-11-04T08:01:00.000-07:00

“In a friendly manner as is my fashion I decided to call by Betty’s on the way to market but on hearing voices within the cottage I had a peep through the key hole whereupon I saw Betty taking ointment from a shell which she rubbed over her husband Tom’s eyes whilst mumbling some strange verse of a charm.

“As I opened the door Tom was edgy as a ferret and quickly disappeared so me and Betty decided to have a nice cup of rum washed down with brandy to keep the cold off our backs and our spirits high. Off Betty went to get the liquor, which gave me a moment to have a closer look at the ointment. Being of a curious disposition I placed some of the green substance in my left eye. Immediately it was as if a rod of fire or needles and pins had been thrust in it!

“I quickly pulled my hat down over my tear-filled eye as Betty returned and we proceeded to drink to each other’s health four times over with some excellent French brandy. Having drunk to the health of her children and the mermaids of the sea I was able at last to open my stinging eye and I beheld before me all kinds of spriggans and men dressed in green with their ladies wearing flowing robes with silver bells on the hems! I was with great effort able to retain my composure until I at last bade farewell to Betty and I was very relieved to leave that enchanted cottage!

It was late afternoon by the time I reached the market and having bought some essentials I stopped for some beer at the public house which I drank with the Christmas cake I had in my pocket. Dusk was beginning to fall as I returned to the market to pick up some spices I’d previously forgotten to purchase and there I happened upon Tom who was pocketing all manner of things without anyone noticing a thing! Unperturbed I strode right up to him.

“Aren’t ye ashamed to be carrying on such a game, Tom?” He turned of a sudden and seemed full of shock that I could see him.

“So, Joan, which eye can thou see me with?” So I closed my left then my right eye and replied,

“Why Tom, I can see you with my left eye.” He then poked me hard in the very same eye saying,

“Thou cursed old spy-

Thou shall see me no more

Nor peep nor pry

Out of that charmed eye.”

“And my sight in that eye was gone in an instant! I called to the market sellers to catch the thief but he was completely invisible to them and in such a rude manner they called me drunken old baggage! I was so bewildered and tossicated I staggered to the public house once more for a horn of beer to deaden the pain before I began my journey home afoot.

“The only light was from a few fishermen’s cottages and on numerous occasions I fell in the ditch at the side of the road but awhile on I knew it must be dawn as the maids were in the fields milking the cows and one of the boys who was bringing out hay helped me along the track to smithy’s where I had a good glass of new-fashioned cordial called shrub which did my stomach much good.

He kindly helped me across the stream and I continued onwards until I fell into a pit of muddy water. Scrambling out like a toad I espied a horse which I managed to place myself astride. The beast took off at a trot which soon became the gallop of the Devil’s charger and I clung on to the mane and tail whilst being thrown about on the back till I landed on a bunch of rushes in a bog!

“Hobbling down the moor bare-footed I then heard the sound of a bugle-horn and a galloping horse, it must be the Old One himself come to get me for good, I thought. I prayed hard for deliverance as I crawled into an old barn and fell amongst the straw in a state of exhaustion but I was soon awoken from my fitful slumber by the barking of dogs and the tramping of hooves. A moment later I had another fit as the squire himself was leaning over me!

“Well, look who’s here among the straw, dead drunk!”

“Oh dear master what wicked things have befallen me tonight!”I replied, all atremble.

“They took me to the mill nearby for a drop of brandy and covered me with blankets and flour sacks, but not over my head as I wouldn’t have my best bonnet covered with sacks. They wheeled me back to the manor in a barrow and I do believe that that last drop of brandy saved my life. Before long I was sat in front of the blazing fire in the old hall whereupon I told of the night’s strange happenings and finally, exhausted, closed my eyes. Though to be honest it was a fox’s sleep with eyes closed and ears open, which is how I overheard the devilish miller say to the squire that it was merely the liquor I had drunk with Betty that’d caused my Otherworldly visions and that the apparitions old women see are merely the vapours of spirits taken in their drink!

“I was most upset by this cruel insult and one day I may forget and then forgive but that, believe me, will be a long way off!”

The Old Woman And Her Nightgown

2010-09-24T10:42:00.000-07:00

There was once an old woman who lived in a time long before now when our grandparents were toddlers in their cots. One night whilst curled up in bed she heard banging and quarrelling going on inside her cottage which sent shivers down her spine, as well you can imagine. She pulled the moth eaten bed covers up over her head as fast as her skinny arms would let her, and it was a long time later she got to sleep! In the brisk morn when finally she dared get out of bed she found on the table a shiny coin which definitely hadn’t been there the night before. Strange goings-on indeed!

The next night the same noises filled her cottage and once more with a thumping heart she hid under the bed covers. In the morning again there was a silver coin. A week or so later on hearing the squabbling and clunking she took a deep breath and peeked out from under the covers. To her surprise she saw some spriggans with sacks of treasure they shared out amongst themselves, arguing in heated whispers as they did so. She pulled the covers up over her eyes as fast as her squeaky bones would let her!

For several nights the same thing happened until, though grateful for the extra money, she was getting fed up of the sleepless nights and was becoming rather jealous of all the silver and gold. She wanted some of it for herself! Thinking long and hard she decided to turn a garment inside out. It was known amongst our ancestors that doing so made the folk of the Otherworld powerless.

However, this old lady was in bed, all she had on was her nightshift! So she squirmed under the sheets for a good half hour, stifling whimpers due to her achy bones. At last she leapt (well, creaked) out of bed and showed the spriggans the seams of her inside out nightgown. They were furious (and a bit shocked at the sight) and were powerless to do her any harm. In the blink of an eye they were gone! She sat on her bed with a pile of treasure on her lap, a grin splitting her face. In the morning she went straight to the land agent and bought herself a cottage by the harbour and lived comfortably off for the rest of her days.

The Story of Beastman-The Journey To The Otherworld

2010-08-28T08:20:00.000-07:00

Open publication - Free publishing - More art

A young lass up on the moor has the shock of her life when she bumps into Beastman, legend of the Moor. She is is given the task of getting some shopping for him as he finds it 'hard to discreetly walk the aisles' of a supermarket. Will she return with his shopping and live to tell the tale.....?

Rubber Gloves

2010-07-04T07:52:00.000-07:00

She grew up in a crumbly old house in the northern realms where spiders were big as a grown man’s fist and furry as his beard. As a child she’d hear tick, tick ticking down the wall the eight feet of the kind of spider that hunts and swallows mice whole, or so she’d been told. Sometimes she’d even awaken to the beady eyes of a black beast staring back at her until her screams sent it scuttling off across the room on its hasty legs.
The outhouse where the coal was kept harboured her second biggest fear, those creatures that are a blur of brown if you happen to look down when one of them is passing. Tunnels earthed out underground by these ministers of plague made the hanging up of washing a precision chore involving wellies tied with string, a good strong broom and precision pegging. She had it down to a fine art.
And rubber gloves, well, they made her heart palpitate at the thought of strongly disinfected surgeries and the synthetic-gloved hands of doctors, dentists and vets, and that fatal glimpse of a pile inside out in the bin as they are peeled off with a suck and a slap and chucked swiftly in.

Women and Cars

2010-06-01T04:21:00.000-07:00

He's nervous due to recurring nightmares involving women and cars and for a sensitive type has a shady past. He finds it hard to say no and one particular favour led him down a dark alley and into a situation involving fast women and cars, sharp suits and even sharper knives. Not a nice place to be even with the razor teeth and claws of a dog.
But as he's a canine used to the easy life of a housing estate all he uses his claws for are to scratch the odd flea off his back that escaped the herbal dog shampoo and he's never had to chase a rabbit for his supper in his life. He's a tinned food dog through and through hence the mezmerized look every time he hears a tin opener in action and his blind devotion to women with a stash of Chappie.

Shopping

2010-04-18T13:18:00.000-07:00

She’s my love, I love it when she sings.

When I sing she goes shopping.

Hoover

2010-04-01T06:23:00.000-07:00

She’s a cleaner at the local branch of a nationwide estate agents. She’s seen countless staff come and go over the years and to her they are one mass of aftershave and perfume.

She brusquely dusts and mops, shoving feet out of the way with her hoover nozzle as she leans forward to pick up biscuit crumbs and crisps absentmindedly dropped, commenting on the weather or cost of living these days. When they’ve gone home she makes a cuppa and rifles through their biscuit stash, dipping a handful of Shorties into her milky tea whilst watching TV in the staff area.

She knows she’s being filmed by the numerous CCTV cameras in the office and has a Devil-may-care attitude towards them, sprawling on the boss’s chair with her feet up on his desk, fantasising about zapping him up with her hoover. She takes great pleasure whenever one of his biros zips up the hoover tube or some lipstick accidentally dropped on the floor by Amanda or Claire finds its way into her hoover bag.

Not that she’s nasty in anyway, but everyone has to have some level of job satisfaction.

Kilt

2010-03-10T12:03:00.000-08:00

It’s the online dating malarkey that was to blame. I mean, all Tasha wanted to do was to meet someone sane. But as you’re probably aware, online dating sites are the preserve of anything but. And Kiltman took the biscuit...well...ended up deleted, cos there he was in his introductory photo proudly stood by railings in the brisk breeze of a spring morn, knees on show and soft as plums.

DELETE! DELETE! DELETE!

She yelled.

Ms Bunny

2010-02-09T10:42:00.001-08:00

Meet Ms Bunny. She's a right laugh. Though her teeth can be a bit much to look at if you get too close. She hangs around down the bar at the end of the street cos she gets bored at home. It's all that bunny energy...She can leap a table in one go with pint of beer in paw and not spill a drop.
Cor.

Rob The Bike

2010-01-11T10:42:00.001-08:00

He works in the bristol area procuring bikes for those of limited means.

Dad

2009-12-17T04:43:00.001-08:00

She thought he’d be a safe bet & he is. Sometimes you do actually get what you ask for in life.

Cowman

2009-11-27T03:03:00.001-08:00

Cow eyes make him want to weep. He thinks he may have been a cow in a past life, which is why he gave up eating meat. He’d like to believe in a higher, benevolent power but thinks this may be fantasy, so he trundles along in his daily life with the dream of waking up one day to bird song, not an alarm.
He likes clotted cream and country walks. If he could have his own way he’d move out of town, buy a piece of land and do permaculture. But he’s only read books on the subject and done a week’s course on a farm where he stayed in a yurt and was taught basket weaving and digging.
He likes wellies and women in knitted jumpers, though he keeps this to himself.

Pisser Of A Mood

2009-11-12T02:58:00.001-08:00

It's November, it's cold & damp...The drizzle has even penetrated through his thick-knit jumper to make his mood even more sour.
He sits by the fire drinking copious amounts of tea, mumbling to himself whilst the rain drips, drips, drips...

The Way He Is

2009-10-13T02:48:00.001-07:00

He likes pigs. He doesn’t like frogs. If you’re a frog don’t take it personally, it’s just the way he is; he has an aversion to cold slimy things. When he wakes up in the morning he plays a tune on the thumb piano he keeps by his bed in case of the blues. He hopes it’ll cheer him up on dark November mornings but it rarely does. He sees life as being one cold, dark November morning, poor luv.

His favourite tune goes something like ha ha ha hee hee hee sung with a guttural thump and scrape cos he eats too much burnt toast. It has that kind of effect on the throat if eaten too quickly and without margarine. He likes the crunch so he can pretend he’s eating a crustacean from a million years ago. It’s the kind of fantasy he has whilst eating breakfast at 5am before dawn’s grey glow.

When he’s older he sees himself as having a nippy black car that he can squeal around corners in trying to kill cats and kids. He’s quite indiscriminate as to which. Kids are an easier target though especially when dawdling to school with music welded to their ears, backpacks on. They are an especially easy target when their shoes have those flashing red lights & their bags fluorescent strips. Nice! He thinks to himself, imagining ramming his foot hard down on the accelerator.

He’s forgotten who his parents are. That was such a long time ago, longer than a giant’s mind span. Big brains & dawdling careful thoughts & a sense of time stretching to the moon and stars, that’s what he has. And a smile that’d never melt a woman’s heart; more likely send em through the nearest door they could bolt briskly behind.
it's just the way he is..., originally uploaded by artbysara.

Flowery Slippers

2009-09-29T06:03:00.000-07:00

He had a friendly, poetic aspect. He loved words. He loved watching golf. He loved cheese & pickle sandwiches & a nice cuppa. & peanuts. & chicken...with chips of course. His favourite trick was to fit as many beetles between his lips as he could & crunch them in one go. He also liked balloons & planes & biros. & spider’s webs.

He lived by the park & you could hear him at night brushing his gunked teeth & howling with the effort cos it was a hell of a pain that shot across his jaw, down his back & straight to his big toe. Brushing his teeth was one of his least favourite activities. He only did it cos there was a hefty lass over the road he fancied who wore flowery slippers. He caught glimpses of them as she sat in front of the TV. Oh to be sat beside her he thought to himself.

But it was a good job she’d always avoided him on the street cos he could've squashed her in one fatal flop. He had ancestors from some northern realm & his grizzly frame was a genetic throw back & the reason his parents had abandoned him in 1979 in the supermarket car park.

& so he lived in his bedsit talking to the spider plant & answering the questions to quizzes on the radio. He would’ve been such an asset on a pub quiz team. But he was never asked. & if there was a happy ending to the story I’d tell it but there isn’t.

Carbuncle

2009-09-21T07:41:00.001-07:00

It's just one of those days...she's had trouble with the neighbours... & her mum. They disagree on just about everything. Especially marmalade & eggs...& politics & how long a skirt should be & how to make the best chocolate cake.

Not that this lass does a lot of baking...she’s out on the town too much to cope with ounces & whisks, oven temperatures & cooling racks.

She’d much rather be sat skim-reading the paper whilst forgetting to text a mate about where they’re gonna meet before the club to get cash out at the cash machine so she doesn’t have to rely on the generosity of random strangers when it comes to beer...or random blokes to be more precise.

But, as you can see, it’s been a day of complications which if I had the time I’d divulge the details of, I would, but I don’t as my dog needs walkin...well, dawdling, as he’s the world’s slowest greyhound.

Toothache

2009-09-18T14:05:00.000-07:00

oh life can sometimes be painful like toothache. like the wince you get when eating icecream with sensitive teeth. ow.

blankmediacollective & artbysara

2009-09-03T05:16:00.000-07:00

Blank Media Collective's website is well worth havin a nosey at. The aim is to promote artists, writers & musicians in all manner of ways- with online portfolios, monthly events in Manchester, exhibitions & collaborations & an online artstore. So I am pleased to be featured in Issue 14, available for download from the website at http://www.blankmediacollective.org/. This is how the editorial folk summed up artbysara:

Featured in this issue are the striking images of artbysara - bold caricatures that cover everything from fairy-tales to ‘the man down the street’. Her work draws together almost archetypal figures and drops them right into the modern era, and explores the places where the figure and the surroundings don’t quite fit. Unlike artists whose work hangs in galleries to be admired, the availability and accessibility of her work is part of the point, in terms of subject matter, presentation, and the formats in which her art can be bought and kept. We are delighted to be adding to that accessibility in blankpages.

& this is how I summed myself up:

Welcome to the world of artbysara peopled by feisty, finicky folk from the realm of fairytale to the bloke down the road...
I love caricatures, irony & strange goings on. I draw pen and ink cartoons using a dip pen & bottled ink, scan them into my computer & print them on all manners of things from postcards & mugs to magnets, t-shirts, badges & in books. I like best art that is affordable so am a fan of mass-production, digital printing and self-publishing which means anyone can print and publish their own work even on a small budget. I’m a big fan of public libraries (long may they survive) & also of street art, political cartoonists & satire in all its forms.
I illustrate posters, flyers, books for other people (e.g. I recently finished a book of Cornish Fairytales), & write short stories to accompany my own pictures. I love scary women & men who look like they’ve just stepped out of some weird ancient fairytale & landed in this day & age with its mobile phones, street scenes, slang & woes. They’re a bit confused, a bit mouthy, at times timid, lost, pissed off...
But that’s just the way life is...know what I mean?

Marmalade

2009-08-17T07:23:00.000-07:00

there was once not so long ago a girl called marmalade. well, that was her nickname. and she relished telling boys off and frightening old ladies at the bus stop and being rude to whosoever crossed her path...the usual teenage stuff.
one morning she was shuffling down the road in her scuffed up shoes singing rather badly to the tunes blasting into her ears when a huge crow swooped down, sat on her head and started pecking at her eyes...
marmalade screamed and screamed and ran and ran til she ran out of breath and fell over and the silky crow sat on her shouder cawing with an eerie fatalistic croak. oh my god she thought, i'm done for!
then it spread out it's huge wings and enveloped marmalade in one massive swish and the girl with the red knotted hair disappeared...

well, not completely, as she has become a legend. to this day she is said to be seen loitering around bus stops where her spirit scares old ladies waiting for buses, and lads smoking outside pubs.

this story was told to me by a grandma who swears she saw her ghostly apparition last week whilst getting on the 177 at 9.30. and this picture is how i remember her before her mysterious disappearance. others say she's working as a waitress in spain and the bloke over the road swore he saw her down the supermarket at the weekend.

Amber & Debs

2009-08-13T06:54:00.000-07:00

Debs has just finished with her bloke so has some spare time on her hands. You could say she’s been getting a bit morose, dwelling too much on the state of the planet with its wars and conflicts and the fact we’re heading towards environmental oblivion.

And she has no one to cuddle up to now, poor luv…But at least she has a friend like Amber who can’t really be arsed with all the naval gazing but does her best, though it goes without saying she’d much rather be sat down the pub.

Delicious

2009-07-26T06:41:00.000-07:00

Her slippers are scuffed by seven winters of shuffling. New, they were green and white, in case you were wondering. She likes boiled eggs washed down with loose leaf tea and such images frequent her thoughts. Cheese and pickle sandwiches are also her favourite which she shares with her cat Thomas. Mmm...delicious.

In The Beginning

2009-07-25T02:01:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it can take a while to get going in the morning, like til midday even. Well, this bloke has that kind of a feeling most of the time. If I was going to be critical I’d tell him to get off his backside & go & do some exercise to get those endorphins moving around his body. It might perk him up a bit. But he likes to wallow in the inanity of his life so much so that it has become his main preoccupation, nay excuse, for inactivity. Best steer clear.

Giant Bolster & The Press

2009-07-14T04:12:00.000-07:00

Giant Bolster has made it into the local newspaper! Which is a miracle as he is huge & hates having his photo taken. But thanks to the wonders of modern digital photography he looks about 2 inches high.

It took a while convincing him the picture would do him justice. Giants can be vain, though some of course are very shy & hardly ever leave their mountain peaks & murky bogs.

Giant Bolster is of a cantankerous nature but the professionalism of the paper's photographer ensured the photo-shoot was a success. & I've even heard rumours down the pub that Bolster keeps a framed copy of the picture on his favourite crag.

Right place Wrong time

2009-07-08T02:14:00.001-07:00

Just one of those days...
She mislaid the scrap paper scrawled with the details as to when she's meeting Jim, a keen angler and Formula 1 fanatic she has nothing in common with.
Just as well really.

Supermarket

2009-07-05T13:13:00.000-07:00

I drew this a while back when I had the mother of all menial jobs in a well-known supermarket. It was the most boring, oppressive, brain-destroying job ever, & I had to get out of bed at 4.45am to do it.

But the whole deadendness & meaninglessness of it must've seeped into my very being when I wasn't looking, & I became a zombie, fulfilling the will of this multinational corporation that was tighter than Scrooge. (Time off at Christmas, Easter, weekends, no way!)

But one day I realised how bad my life had actually become & I escaped!

Spilt Milk

2009-06-30T05:02:00.000-07:00

Alas, she's been having bloke problems. She's gone & split up with her surf hunk who looks really good with his tatty, weathered hair and tight t-shirt. She blames herself cos she wasn't that interested in surfing, & it showed.

yellowpunkman

2009-06-24T05:15:00.001-07:00

I drew him a while back & the yellow is dirty, like his smirk. He knows more than he should & has a past I don't want to know too much about. It'd fill a book to full...if he could remember it.

Bluedogman

2009-05-27T07:59:00.000-07:00

Dogs have big teeth like wolves. But they can also be trained quite easily, to sit up & beg, to roll over on their backs, to fetch a ball. Unfortunately though, they often have bad breath. This can be alleviated by crunchy charcoal dog biscuits. But remember, hide chews cause excessive salivation as do hot cars & the sight of a rabbit bounding over the hill.
To treat your dog well you must give him a comfortable bed to sleep in, make sure he gets plenty of fresh air, & long country walks. If you leave him couped up at home whilst at work in the office you may return home to find your sofa in shreds as well as your favourite pair of pink fluffy slippers. This would be most unfortunate.
So my advice would be to give up your job, buy a van & travel around Europe playing the fiddle whilst he howls & tourists chuck coins into your hat. Now what an adventure that'd be!

Cor...Books!

2009-05-20T05:49:00.001-07:00

Over 200 illustrations collected together in two books called Sing & Stuff! If you'd like to purchase a book or two they are available from my website at peachweb.

I know for sure the finicky folk of Sing & Stuff would love to be given a home by you...they are a nosey lot tho & may cause a little mischief around the house, after all piskey is amongst the pages, the well known & notoriously naughty character from folk lore who still lurks beneath the stairs, in the darkest corner & in the garden shed...You have been warned!

Prissy

2009-05-03T10:34:00.000-07:00

This picture I drew when I moved to a place I'm about to leave.

I liked her attitude, but she did scare me a bit.

I'm glad I won't see her again.

Dredge

2009-04-17T09:12:00.001-07:00

I saw her last week. I was walkin my dog & dew glistened on the grass & blackbirds were singin'. The town had yet to awaken, there was none of the hussle & rush of a weekday morning with car doors slamming & schoolkids smokin' by the park gate. So there I was, appreciating the fine spring greenness about me, when i caught a glimpse of a foot stickin' out of a bush. It was Dredge. Of a sudden the foot twitched as if tickled by a fly. & then slowly but surely the Dredge rolled out from under the bush. She straightened her skirt & put a fine pointy shoe over her gnarled toes. She opened an eye. Focused. Cursed with the effort. Stood up. & seemed to glide across the mowed grass of the park like she was an angel...or apparition of death. & maybe she was. A ghost of Dredge past, present & future. A symbol of rebirth in these uncertain times...

Luv & Stuff

2009-04-08T09:12:00.000-07:00

This lass had a stroke of luck in the love stakes....she's all loved up cos the door to door salesman actually was her type & not at all bad looking considerin he was wearing a creased grey suit & pink tie the first time she lay eyes upon him. Ok, so he wears white socks & his ears are like rashers of bacon, but she sees through such imperfections to the real inner man. Honest. & I ain't being sarcastic.

Merbabe & Dogman On Holiday

2009-03-12T07:11:00.000-07:00

Merbabe is the Mermaid of Zennor babified. She thought she'd come onland for a bit of fun, maybe even seduce a bloke whilst he's too drunk to see her tail hidden beneath her pink & orange sarong. By the way, you can always tell a mermaid by her wet hem. Be warned.
Dogman is a jack-the-lad, the Beast of Bodmin down from the moor & on holiday. He's in St Ives eyeing up the babes, enjoying the ale & pretending he can surf, but he can't. He's such a slacker....except when it comes to food. He can gobble up old grandmas & children whole.

Betty Stoggs

2009-03-03T07:25:00.000-08:00

Betty Stoggs has had a real ale named after her, that's how famous she's become. But few of the punters at the bar know her true story...and probably wouldn't want to if they had an inkling as to what it was about. See, Betty married big burly Jan the Mounster in the olden days and they had a baby.

But whilst Jan was out at work, Betty began to slacken when it came to doing the housework and cooking. Her baby was dressed in rags and her bread was like concrete. And to make matters worse she got in with the gin woman who went from door to door selling more than threads and material.

Then one day whilst she was nattering and knocking back the booze her baby disappeared. Betty swore she would change her ways just to have her baby back. As luck would have it, after a huge search, the bloke from the end terrace came upon the child hidden under a gorse bush, wrapped in a fine blanket and covered with flowers.

See, the fairies had taken the child but dawn had come before they had a chance to whisk him away to the otherworld, so they'd left him til the evening when they would return.

Lucky Betty! And did she mend her ways?

Mmm.....

Cheese

2009-03-03T07:15:00.000-08:00

Life grates on him. Life the grater, him the cheese.

Yellow Top

2009-03-03T07:08:00.000-08:00

I couldn’t be arsed pretending to like him.
I mean, what’s the point of disliking someone if you can’t show it?

Squirrel

2009-03-01T08:52:00.000-08:00

A true story from a true woman, honest.

Beagle

2009-02-27T09:53:00.000-08:00

He smells of crisps and beer.

She's in love.

Dogman on holiday

2009-02-27T09:39:00.000-08:00

He likes the beach does dogman, the warm breath of the breeze ruffling his fur, the tickle of waves making his thighs tingle. Mmm, but remember he’s part dog and not all dogs like to swim, so he never goes completely in.

And so the surfboard by his side never skims a wave but is a prop...literally, when he’s beered up. But then again thank God he doesn’t go for a dip as there’s nowt worse than the wet dog smell is there?

So, here he is on the beach eyeing up the babes, pretending he can surf, swigging back the ale, pink tongue licking his glistening, pointy teeth.

Duffy and the Devil

2009-02-27T04:48:00.000-08:00

Squire Lovell was returning from hunting one winter’s day when he passed by a cottage where a young lass called Duffy was having an furious row with her step mother and a right lot of swearing was going on too!

The Squire, feeling sorry for Duffy, invited her to live at his manor where she would spin and knit for him, little knowing that Duffy was in fact very lazy and hopeless at spinning!

In a short time Duffy was installed at the manor and put to work carding and spinning a pile of wool up in the loft. One day a devil suddenly appeared right before her, a bucca boo who had lusted after the pretty young maid for quite a while! He smelt of burnt clothes and charcoal and said,

“Here I am at your call young lady, ready to do any work you ask of me, if you’ll agree to go with me at the end of three years to my realm...unless by chance you can tell me my name.”

Duffy, seeing three years at least of an easy life, agreed to the devil’s deal and the rest of the household on hearing the rumble of the spinning wheel in the loft, thought Duffy to be hard at work when in fact it was the devil. But each day she sneaked off to the mill where the women gathered to grind grain and gossip.

The devil meanwhile kept to his word and produced the finest stockings that ever were spun which the Squire wore to church each Sunday. They were much admired by the congregation; young and old alike desired to feel his legs and the silkiness of those superb stockings that survived all the furze, brambles and bogs when the Squire went hunting.

He never again had scratched legs and was so delighted by her work, on returning from hunting one evening, he grabbed her and proposed marriage to the pretty young lass, little knowing she had had to stuff an admirer who had come to court her into the oven to hide him!

So, the Squire and Duffy were married and the years went by and the Squire came to be dressed head to toe in the devil’s handiwork. Duffy continued to go to the mill where she told Betty, a cunning witch, the deal she’d struck with the devil as three years were nearly up and she was no nearer knowing the devil’s name. Betty thought on it a while and hatched a plan, telling Duffy to make sure the Squire went hunting the next day.

Well, the Squire took quite a bit of persuading but eventually he went out hunting. When he returned at midnight he was singing snatches of a song and was laughing like a madman.

Finally calming down he told her about how he’d been chasing a hare that led him to a grove and there he saw a devil dancing with witches around a fire, and Betty of the mill was amongst them! The devil sang,

”I did knit and I did spin

For three years to the day

Tomorrow she shall ride with me

Over land and over sea

Far away, far away,

For she can never know

My name is Tarraway.”

And the witches sang the chorus,

“By night and day

We dance and play

With noble Captain Tarraway.”

The Squire was so excited by the song and the sight of witches flying over the fire on broomsticks he shouted out, “Hurrah!” and in an instant a blast of wind swept away the fire and all was dark and silent! The Squire drank another flagon of cider and rolled dead drunk on the floor so Duffy covered him with a blanket and crept to bed.

The next night the Squire went hunting to try and find once more the witch’s gathering and Duffy was left on her own. Of a sudden the bucca boo was stood in the doorway dressed in his devilish finery, come to take Duffy to his sizzling underworld realm. A very anxious Duffy insisted she’d much rather stay at the manor but the devil was adamant she tell him his name otherwise she’d have no choice but to leave with him. Said Duffy,

“Mr Devil, aren’t ee lord Beelzebub?”

“No young lass, how could you confuse me with such a one! For the second time I demand of you my name!”

“Well, it must be Prince Lucifer.”

“Don’t be so ignorant! For the third time I ask you my name!”

“Well I reckon it is Tarraway!”

“Aggghh, I’m too proud of my name to deny it, you are right, I’m fair beaten.”

Taraway disappeared in an instant with a flash of lightening, thick smoke and the stench of brimstone.

Duffy’s life had been saved by the cunning of Betty the witch who had made the devil reveal his name. From that day onwards though still terrible at knitting, she did the best she could, and the Squire once more had to get used to the scratches of thorns whilst out hunting.

Lorry

2009-02-23T07:05:00.000-08:00

He came over with a grudge the size of a lorry, his face smeared with oil.
He’d been fixing his car he said.
This was not a good day to ask him for a favour.

Angels & Devils

2009-02-23T06:35:00.000-08:00

Cut his finger and out grew a tree
From the acorn of blood came his ancestry
Climbed down the tree to sit at the roots
Where angels and devils like ivy grew.

Rabbits & Worms

2009-02-20T05:39:00.000-08:00

He had rabbit ears and a habit of hiccupping whilst drinking beer. I said he should forget it, I wasn’t interested in dating a rabbitman but he just grinned, his buck teeth glinting.
As I got up from the pub bench he pulled me back and tickled my ear with his whiskers and put a paw around my waist. His nose was quivering. I looked around hoping no one had seen this embrace, then looked him in the eye and said, ‘No way!’
With that he jumped up and over the bench, a tear glinting on his face. 'But it's not my fault i was born this way!', he cried and began to tell me the story of his life.
I'd best stop here as I swore his secret I'd keep but, blimey, what a can of worms it was, that night at the pub by the dock where the seagulls screech.

Giant Bolster

2009-02-18T05:40:00.000-08:00

I'm tellin' an old tale now, old as hills and ancient as trees. It's about a giant who roamed these parts long before you or I ever spoke of double-glazing, ring tones or the property market.

He was gruff as the gales that batter the Land's End peninsular and vicious with it. He wasn't too nice to his wife either and fell in love with the chaste St Agnes, patron saint of Celtic Cornwall.

Being a nun she just wasn't into the whole romance thing, especially with a married giant. But Bolster continued to woo her with dead cows and by blowing the morning mists away.

Be glad you can't smell how bad his breath is...enough to make birds drop out of the sky, dead, for miles around...

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